✓ | 𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ꜱɪxᴛʏ-ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ

Eurydice.

🧶

    They returned to Mount Tamalpais shortly afterwards, having accomplished everything they had intended. Somehow, most of their group had survived this time. Rory figured the Fates must have a personal vendetta against her. It wasn’t an impossible thought.

    Luke was already a few paces ahead, his long stride purposeful, his eyes fixed on the peak as though the answers to all their problems lay just beyond it. Rory didn’t have to guess at what was running through his mind; it was the same thing that had haunted hers for months. Kronos was waiting.

    The trail narrowed as they ascended, the air growing colder and thinner. By the time they reached the plateau near the Titan's tomb, the chill was sharp enough to bite through Rory’s jacket. She pulled it tighter around her shoulders but didn’t slow her steps.

    Their army was alive with activity. Monsters of all shapes and sizes milled about, their grotesque forms illuminated by flickering torchlight. Soldiers barked orders, their voices blending into a cacophony of snarls, clanging weapons, and marching feet. The air smelled of burnt wood and metal.

    Kelli brushed past Rory, her steps deliberate and sharp, a smug grin plastered across her face. Rory barely glanced at her. She must have said something—probably some taunt designed to get under her skin—but Rory didn’t hear it. She didn’t care.

    Her focus was elsewhere.

    She barely registered the bustling camp, the sea of monsters that swarmed around them, or even the presence of the other demigods who had thrown their lot in with Kronos. All she could see was the Titan's tomb, the golden monolith that seemed to pulse faintly in the half-light, as though alive.

    Luke had stopped just ahead of her, his figure silhouetted against the tomb’s cold glow. He stood still, his shoulders tense, his head tilted slightly as though he were listening for something—or perhaps wrestling with thoughts too heavy to voice. Rory slowed her steps, hanging back, unsure if she wanted to close the distance.

    For a fleeting moment, she thought this would be it. He would keep walking forward, step into the heart of Kronos’s power, without looking back. He would trust she would follow, a silent shadow, her presence fading into the periphery of his path. It would be easier that way, wouldn’t it? To let her drift into a memory, untouched and unspoken, a thread unbroken.

    But then, his head turned.

    His gaze met hers, and the air seemed to shift. His expression softened—not the hardened mask of leadership or the sharp confidence of command, but something quieter, more fragile. It was a look that spoke of too many things at once: regret, longing, a plea she couldn’t name. In that moment, she felt the weight of him, of the silent promise that had bound them to this impossible road.

    And in that moment, she wished he hadn’t turned.

    Because that, she realized, was how they would be undone.

    That single glance tethered her to him in a way she couldn’t escape, a thread of fate too tangled to sever. It wasn’t the Titans or the prophecy or even Kronos himself that would break them. It was this—this fragile, human need to hold onto each other when they should have let go.

    As his gaze lingered, the tomb seemed to hum faintly, its golden surface rippling like water disturbed by a phantom breeze. Rory felt its pull, ancient and unrelenting, a force that promised ruin for anyone foolish enough to resist. She took a step back, her breath catching, and Luke’s gaze flickered—just briefly—before he turned away.